


The Neighbor

by true_alpha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blow Jobs, Destiel - Freeform, Human Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Non-Hunting AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/true_alpha/pseuds/true_alpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's neighbor is weird in an "I like to stare into the depths of your soul" way, but also hot in an "I'd totally bang you on my couch" way.</p><p>So Dean does just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Neighbor

Dean is most proud of three things: Sam graduating law school, the Impala (his baby), and opening his own mechanic shop. It took a lot of hard work and sweat and pinching pennies, but on his twenty-eighth birthday, the shop finally opened its doors.

He got a good client base from Bobby, a good friend of his dad's, referring people to him from his junkyard, and the business flourished from there. Dean is charming and polite, and while the clients come from the referral, they stay for Dean's fantastic service. 

By his twenty-ninth birthday, he's managed to get more than enough money to move out of his boxy apartment and into a quaint house just a couple of blocks from the shop. It's nice to stop putting quite so many miles on the Impala (gotta keep his baby in tip-top shape, of course), and it's even nicer to be so close to the shop. 

He moves in on an unusually warm September Sunday. It's him and Sam and Benny, his right hand man at the shop. Dean doesn't have a lot of stuff, so it doesn't take the three of them very long at all to get Dean's things inside. 

On their last trip out to the small box truck, Dean spots a man across the fence; his new neighbor. He's nearly as tan as Dean, just without all the freckles, and his hair is mussed in a way that, to Dean, screams, “Just laid!” His jeans are covered in dirt and grass stains, and his plain brown garden gloves are equally as worse for wear. 

He turns when he hears the men coming out. Dean smiles, but the man doesn't return the look. He sits on the ground beside a rose bush and just... watches. Says nothing, does nothing, just watches them moving things. 

The guy may be hot, but despite what Sam may say, Dean does have to draw the line somewhere, and he tends to draw it at _creepy as all hell._

And then, as Dean takes another glance back, he catches a glimmer of sapphire blue nestled among the tan of the man's skin. _His eyes._ Vibrant and soulful, his eyes manifest an intelligence far beyond his apparent years. Dean's so transfixed that he nearly walks into the side of the truck. Ears pink, he ignores Benny and Sam's laughter and grabs another box. 

They drop of the next load of boxes in the bedroom, and then return outside to get some more. Dean's new neighbor is now plucking weeds from around the same rose bush. He doesn't look up at all this time. 

Half an hour later, the moving is done. Benny and Sam don't stick around long, as Dean hasn't had a chance to stock his new fridge yet, but Dean doesn't mind. Unpacking sounds like a bitch, anyways. Instead, he peaks outside to see if his new neighbor is still in the yard. 

Dean's a bit disappointed to see that he isn't, in all honesty. Sure, usually he's more of an ass man, but those _blue eyes_ – Dean already feels like he can't get enough of them. 

So unpacking is off the table, and apparently so is meeting his neighbor. Getting some grub seems like the best option now. A rumble from Dean's stomach settles it; he grabs his keys and heads outside. 

  


There's a market not half a mile from Dean's new place. Sam would love it, with all the fresh produce, but it isn't really Dean's sort of store. No beer in sight and definitely no pizzas. He's just making his way towards the exit when he someone brushes against him, murmuring a quiet, “Excuse me.” 

Dean turns just in time to see his neighbor hustling down an aisle. It takes a moment to brush off his surprise, and then, out of nowhere, he calls, “Hey!” 

He jogs after the other man, who has stopped in the aisle. He turns around, a frown crinkling brow, and yeah, that's basically the most adorable thing Dean's ever seen. 

Wait. Adorable? 

“Yes?” says the man. His voice is gravely, deeper than Dean had been expecting. Even as Dean struggles for something to say, the man remains patient. 

“Uh, yeah, hey!” Dean says at last. “I don't know if you recognize me. I just moved in next door to you.” 

The man blinks. For a split second, Dean revels in the thought that this guy really _doesn't_ recognize him. With the way he was staring earlier, he damn well should– 

“Yes. I remember.” 

Dean lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He smiles his best, dazzling, deal-closing smile. The man's face doesn't so much as twitch, and yeah, creepy as all hell. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

”Uh, well, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester.” He sticks out his hand. 

The other man examines it for a moment. Dean's just starting to wonder if the guy gets the message or not when, finally, he shakes Dean's hand. 

“Castiel Novak,” he says. 

Dean decides to change tactics. He changes to his flirty smile, the one that gets him an on-the-house slice of pie at the diner across from the shop. 

“It's nice to meet you,” Dean says. “Hopefully we'll get to know each other well.” 

Perfect. Subtle, but paired with that smile of his, Dean is sure that his message gets across. It has to. And yet Castiel... he just continues to stare. 

“I'm pleased to meet you as well,” he says. 

Neither of them say anything after that. Castiel just stares serenely at him, as if the lack of conversation is just fine with him, but the silence makes Dean fidget. He's never been much good at keeping his mouth shut. 

“So, Castiel,” he says, grappling for something, _anything._ “That's an unusual name.” 

Castiel frowns, the little wrinkles making another appearance. 

“I suppose it is,” he replies, and maybe the guy has the emotional spectrum of a potato, and maybe Dean isn't always perceptive to emotions, but the terse bite in his tone makes Dean wonder if he's hit a nerve. He turns away from Dean, and now Dean is sure that he's said the wrong thing. 

“I... have to shop. I will see you around, Dean,” Castiel says, and he leaves it at that, walking away without waiting for a reply from Dean. 

Dean just stands there, frowning, until some hipster girl pushes her cart against his ass and tells him to, “Move it, pal, you're blockin' the aisle.” 

Dean leaves, determined from now onward to make a better impression with Castiel. 

  


Bright and early Monday morning, Dean wakes up, showers, and wanders downstairs for his breakfast. As he eats his bowl of cereal over the sink (the kitchen table is crowded with boxes), he spots some movement from the corner of the window. 

He sets his bowl down and shuffles over for a better look. Castiel is in his backyard, doing some very obscene looking poses on a yoga mat. Dean can't help but stare as Castiel bends over and arches his back. 

Dean has never exclusively been into women. He's fooled around with his fair share of guys, and some nights, and has to admit that even the nicest pair of tits is nothing compared to a thick, hard cock. Or, in Castiel's case, a sweet, supple ass (though really, Dean can't pass judgment on his cock – not yet, anyways). 

He sets his bowl down, grabs his mug of coffee instead, and heads out onto the small deck off his kitchen. Here, he has an even better view of Castiel. He can't help but take a moment to appreciate that view before he clears his throat and speaks up. 

“Morning!” he calls. 

Castiel pauses, gets up on his knees, and twists to look over his shoulder. He spots Dean and turns around completely to face the other man. 

“Good morning,” he replies. Just like yesterday, he leaves it at that. Dean figures this guy isn't much for conversation. 

“So, yoga, huh?” Dean strolls off the deck and towards the fence. “My brother's girlfriend, she's, uh, been naggin' me to get into it. Says it's good for my mojo or something.” 

Castiel frowns. “Mojo...?” he repeats blankly. “I... am not sure what you mean. However, yoga has been proven to reduce stress, improve mood, and increase balance, range of motion, flexibility–” 

“Uh – yeah, I think she mentioned that, too,” Dean mumbles. He clears his throat again. “Listen... I'm not real good at this, but, uh, I hope I didn't – didn't offend you or anything yesterday.” 

The little lines in Castiel's forehead get deeper. “Offend?” he echoes. “I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.” 

Dean nearly groans. Does he seriously need to spell everything out for this guy? 

“Yeah, yesterday. At the store.” Still, Castiel seems confused. Dean elaborates, “What I said about your name. I... I'm sorry? I didn't mean to offend you or nothin'....” 

Castiel's face clears. Dean swears he sees the man's lips twitch up, fighting a smile, but then it passes and Castiel's expression is as impassive as ever. 

“Oh. No. That – you did not offend me, Dean.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

More silence, this time, considerably more awkward. Still, Castiel doesn't seem to mind. Finally, Dean coughs, rubs at the back of his neck; Castiel blinks. 

“Well, I gotta get going,” Dean says, jabbing his thumb back towards the house. “Gotta be a wage slave for the man and all that jazz.” 

“Work. Of course.” Castiel glances at his watch. “I suppose I should get going as well.” 

He stands and bends down to gather his mat up. Dean takes a moment to shamelessly ogle. When Castiel stands and turns around again, Dean is sure to be looking at his face instead. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says. He turns and makes his way back towards his house, and apparently that's that. 

“Uh – see you around?” Dean calls back. Castiel waves a hand vaguely to acknowledge Dean that he's been heard, but that's the only response that Dean gets. Castiel slips back into the house. 

Dean doesn't normally go for the strong, silent types, but Castiel – Castiel is clearly different. He isn't quiet to be mysterious or brooding or anything else, he's just... himself. Just Castiel. 

And Dean is intrigued. He wants to know more about his gorgeous blue-eyed neighbor, the man with the strange way of talking, with the tight ass, just – everything. Dean's just dying to just know more, and that scares him. 

There's an undeniable attraction to Castiel, but that's not all. Castiel is... interesting. Sort of weird and just a little creepy, but mostly, he's interesting. Dean hasn't ever wanted to lay someone and get to know them (not since Lisa anyways, and that was almost ten years ago). This is basically new territory, and the thought alone of falling for someone, of being dependent for someone, scares him. 

In short, he is completely, royally screwed. 

  


The next time he sees Castiel is that evening. Dean's just come back from the shop, and he's tired, covered in grease, and in desperate need of a shower. 

As he trudges up the sidewalk, he spots Castiel over in his yard. He's in the same dirty jeans from yesterday and a grimy gray t-shirt, bent over his flower beds. Dean crosses slowly to the fence and peers over. 

“You really like yard work, huh?” he says in lieu of greeting. Castiel looks up, wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his glove. 

“Yes. I suppose you could say I... _dig_ it.” And there it is, the little quirk of his lips that must be a smile. Dean blanches. 

“Did you just make a joke?” he demands. “Jesus, you didn't strike me as the type.” 

“I have been known to be surprising,” Castiel replies simply. He sets down his trowel and sits back. He peers up at Dean, squinting into the sunlight. “You're filthy,” he observes. 

The guy doesn't beat around the bush, Dean has to give him that much. He chuckles and looks down at himself, a bit self consciously. 

“Just got off work,” he replies. “Those nasty blue mechanic coveralls aren't really my thing, so....” 

“You work at Winchester Motors down the street,” Castiel says. Dean grins. 

“I own the joint,” Dean corrects proudly. Castiel raises an eyebrow. 

“An impressive feat for a man as young as yourself,” Castiel says. 

Dean frowns. “You're not that much older than me,” he says, and Castiel's tiny smile reappears. “...Are you?” Dean asks, now uncertain. 

“Isn't it impolite to ask someone their age?” 

“I thought that only applied to women.” 

Castiel chuckles, a delightful, low, belly-warming sound that Dean revels in. He turns his bright blue eyes back up to Dean, and the sight coupled with the sound does Dean in. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” tumbles out of his mouth before he can help himself. The not-smile disappears from Castiel's face and the crinkley brow returns. Dean tries to backpedal. 

“It's just,” he starts, just a bit desperately. “I just moved in, and, uh, got a new big screen. Fifty-two inches. And – big game this weekend, Chiefs and the Eagles. Usually I watch with my brother, but he's busy with his girlfriend, so....” 

Dean's rambling now, he knows it. Castiel doesn't seem like the type to speak up and put him out of his misery, either. So Dean manages to stop himself. He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“So?” he asks. “Whatcha think?” 

Castiel looks uncomfortable. “I...,” he begins, “I'm not really a sports fan....” 

“Oh.” Dean tries not to feel too disappointed. “Right. That's okay, man. I get it.” He rubs at the back of his neck, his nervous habit, and manages a weak sounding chuckle. “I'll... see you around, then?” 

He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but somehow, it does. Castiel still looks uncomfortable, and Dean starts to panic. He's probably freaked Castiel out, made him think that Dean was hitting on him, and oh God, Castiel is probably straight as a _fucking arrow._ Dean has officially ruined his relationship with his neighbor before it's even begun. Figures. Just his luck. 

“Oh. Yes. Well, living beside each other, I suppose that we will indeed,” Castiel replies. 

Dean isn't sure how to respond to this guy. “Uh – yeah.” He flashes a smile and heads back up the path to his front door. “See you later, Cas!” 

No response. Dean looks over his shoulder as he unlocks his door to find that Castiel is just staring at him, eyes squinted. He's not really frowning and not really smiling, and everything about it is pretty disturbing. 

It isn't until Dean is inside, lathering his hair with shampoo that the realizes what he'd done. _Cas._ Not Castiel, but _Cas,_ like they're buddies or something. 

Dean just can't catch a break with this guy. 

  


Okay, so Dean _really_ can't catch a break with this guy. The very next day, he oversleeps. After rushing to get ready, he takes his breakfast (some coffee) to go and runs out the door. Castiel is on the sidewalk, dressed nicely in dark slacks, a button down, and a matching dark sports coat, and of course, Dean runs straight into him. 

“Shit!” he snarls. Castiel's crisp white shirt is now blotched with dark brown coffee stains. “Oh, shit, man, I am so sorry–!” 

“It's alright,” Castiel says calmly. “I wasn't paying attention.” 

“No, man, I was – I should've been looking, I mean, I should've–” 

Castiel chuckles, and the sound is more than enough to shut Dean up. 

“You seem to be in a hurry,” he says warmly, “and accidents happen.” 

Castiel is being way too nice about it and it makes Dean feel that much worse. Castiel doesn't seem like the type to dress up everyday, like Dean, who only owns one nice button down and a clip on tie. 

“Just – just be sure to give me the dry cleaning bill. I'll cover it,” Dean offers. Castiel smiles. 

“No need for that,” he says. “Shouldn't you be running off to work now, Dean?” 

Dean hesitates, shifting on his feet. “Yeah, but–” He looks meaningfully and Castiel's ruined shirt. 

“Then you'd best be going,” Castiel says. “I have more than enough time to change before work. I'll be fine.” 

“I... yeah. Okay.” Dean hesitates again, just for a second. 

Castiel's not-quite-a-smile makes a reappearance before he turns back towards his house. “As you say, Dean, I'll see you around,” he says. With one last little smile at Dean, he makes his way back into his house. 

Dean stays routed to the sidewalk. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that tone... that Castiel was _flirting_ with him. Or at least making some attempt at it. 

Maybe he just has some sort of really delayed reaction time, like he was dropped a few too many times as a baby. That would explain why the guy talks like a robot, too. Sam was that was as a baby when Dean was always pushing him over in his walker. He grew out of it, though. 

Dean turns and starts his path back down the street, considerably less hurried this time. A slow grin stretches over his face, a warm feelings settles in his stomach. Suddenly, Dean's morning is going a lot better. 

  


Sam really is busy with Jess, and Benny is off in some bar getting plastered, Dean is sure of it. So it's just Dean and his new TV on Friday evening. It's pleasant out, so all the windows are open, and Dean is settled on the couch in just some jeans. With a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, this is shaping up to be Dean's sort of weekend. 

Then, just minutes before kickoff, his doorbell goes off. Dean groans as he hauls himself off of the couch. He grumbles the whole way to the front door, but when he pulls it open, that all stops. 

Castiel is in some beat-up jeans and a _(tight, Jesus Christ that's tight)_ gray t-shirt. He doesn't say anything; instead, he shamelessly takes in Dean's bare torso. Dean knows he's hot, but still, this makes him feel insanely self-conscious. 

“Uh – hey,” Dean says, when he finally gets over his surprise. 

“Hello,” Castiel greets. He finally raises his eyes to Dean's. “I hope you don't mind. I... reconsidered your offer about the football game.” Dean, further shocked, says nothing. “I brought beer. My brother informed me that this is traditional football sustenance.” 

Castiel holds up the six pack, and Dean chuckles because _football sustenance._ That is just so... so Castiel. 

“The more the merrier,” Dean says. He steps aside and gestures Castiel inside. “Sorry, it's still sort of a mess in here. Still working on unpacking all this crap.” 

“I do not mind,” Castiel says, and of course he doesn't. The man is always cool as a freaking cucumber. 

“Have a seat,” Dean offers. He plops back into his previous position, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and gesturing for Castiel to sit as well. 

Castiel lowers himself carefully onto the leather seat of Dean's couch and sits stiffly. Dean chuckles. 

“C'mon, I don't bite,” he drawls. “Have a beer, it'll loosen you up a bit.” 

Castiel does as he's told, leaning forward to extract a cold can from the pack. He takes a long drink and relaxes just a bit, but it's more than enough for Dean. 

The game starts in short order, and Dean is immersed. He yells at the TV between drinks of beer and short bits of conversation with Castiel. The other man doesn't seem overly interested in the sport, but seems pleased just being in Dean's company. 

He's a quick learner. He asks a few questions and just nods quietly when Dean gives him answers, like he's storing away the information for later. 

At halftime, Dean stands and stretches. “You hungry?” he asks. “We can order a pizza or somethin'.” 

“Or something,” Castiel repeats faintly. 

Dean turns to look at him. His eyes are dark, crisp blue, like the ocean after a storm. The lust is clear on his face, and it's the only emotion Dean has ever seen the guy show so expressively. 

He crosses to Castiel in one long stride. He drops down, his knees on either side of Cas' lap. Despite the few inches Dean has on him, Castiel doesn't seem to mind the position. His fingers grip at Dean's hips and he tilts his head back, looking up at Dean. His shapely pink lips are parted, and when he catches Dean looking, his tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip. 

Dean can't resist that sort of temptation. He closes the gap between them and presses their lips together. Their first kiss lacks any real finesse, mostly tongue and clacking teeth. Dean doesn't think that either of them mind. 

As reserved and prim as Castiel has come across this week, he's nothing but passion now. He's not shy, either; his hands slide from Dean's hips to the button of his jeans. He makes short work of popping them open and undoing the zipper, and then sliding his hand down Dean's boxers. 

Dean jerks and groans, breaking the kiss. He presses his forehead against Castiel's and looks down to watch Castiel's hand move inside his boxers, stroking him into hardness. 

“Don't... don't beat around the bush, do ya?” Dean says with a weak chuckle. Castiel's response is to lean up again and press his lips to the hollow of Dean's throat. 

Dean tilts his head back and lets Castiel do as he pleases, suckling love bites onto Dean's throat. His hand continues a slow, languid pace, stroking Dean until he's fully hard and leaking at the tip. 

It's great, so much better than Dean thought it would be (and really, they haven't done that much yet), but if Cas keeps that up he's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager. So he reaches between them and pulls Castiel's hand away. 

Cas pulls back from Dean's throat as well and frowns up at him. Dean just grins. He pulls Castiel into another sloppy kiss and rocks his hips against the other man's. Castiel groans. He grips Dean's hips again for some leverage and rocks back up into Dean, moaning quietly from the back of his throat. 

Everything is slow and almost sweet. Even their frantic kisses slow down to something soft. Castiel is making these quiet little sighs every time their hips meet, and Dean always answers with a low moan. 

A loud whistle from the television makes them both jump, and then chuckle. Castiel wraps his hand around the back of Dean's neck and tugs him in for another kiss. 

“Can I suck you?” he murmurs. Dean groans. 

“God, like you even have to ask,” he says. Castiel smiles. 

“Sit,” he orders, nodding to the empty stretch of couch beside him. 

And fuck, Dean's never gotten off on being ordered around before, but Castiel's commanding tone undeniably makes his dick twitch. He hurries to comply, rolling off of Cas and hurrying to sit down. 

He lets his legs fall open obscenely and throws Cas a dirty grin. Castiel's smirk is as subtle as his smile, but no less hot. After tugging off his shirt and tossing it aside, he slides to his knees and crawls in between Dean's legs. 

One thing that Dean definitely didn't expect is that Castiel is such a little fucking _tease._ He runs his hands along Dean's denim clad thighs for a moment, not making any move towards his dick. When he leans forward, Dean groans in relief, but it's just to press kisses and teasing nips to his lower stomach. From there, his lips slide down to the bulge in Dean's jeans. He mouths sloppily at the thick shaft through the denim until Dean is groaning, one fist tight in Castiel's hair. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean slurs. “You gotta hurry up.” 

Castiel pulls away, another little smirk tilting his lips up. He slides his hands around to Dean's ass and presses up. Dean follows the order, lifting his hips so Castiel can tug his jeans and boxers down. He only slides them to mid-thigh, because Dean's cock as sprung free and Castiel suddenly looks like he's fucking starving for it. 

Castiel sucks cock like he kisses, all passion. He slides his lips from the tip to the base without so much as gagging, and Dean has never seen anything that hot. 

“Fucking hell,” he pants, tugging absently on Castiel's hair. “You're fucking good at that.” 

Castiel looks up at him through thick, dark lashes. Dean takes one look into those blue eyes, tense, groans, and spills down Castiel's throat. 

Castiel swallows it all, and then pulls back to lap the missed droplets from Dean's softening cock. Dean has no sooner started riding his post orgasmic wave than he realizes that he finished way earlier than he'd wanted to. 

“Fuck,” he curses. He pulls Castiel up to sit on his lap, and he starts to say something else before Castiel is suddenly kissing him. 

“Fuck,” Dean repeats when they pull apart. He pushes a hand between their bodies and gropes at Castiel through his jeans. “Fuck, I'm sorry, let me–” 

Castiel smiles. “It's fine,” he murmurs. “I – I actually....” 

His cheeks go pink. He opens his jeans, but before Dean can reach for him, Castiel wraps a hand around his own cock and pulls it free from his briefs. 

“Like this?” he asks, almost timid, and Dean groans. 

“If this is what you want,” he replies hoarsely. 

“Yeah,” Cas murmurs. He presses his forehead against Dean's and starts with slow strokes. “Like this.” 

Castiel hardly blinks and definitely doesn't look away while he strokes himself. He keeps his gaze steady with Dean's, and it should be weird or terrifying or something but it's... not. It's definitely intimate, but it's so, so hot, too, and Dean thinks that maybe Cas has a thing for his eyes, too. 

Castiel grunts suddenly, his pace quickening. His breath is coming in short, shuddering bursts, and suddenly, Dean wants nothing more than to see him come. 

He slips his hand into the back of Castiel's briefs, just barely still covering his ass. He kneads the supple flesh for a minute, just enjoying the feel of it, before he slips his hand down even further. 

One finger slides along the crack of Castiel's ass. It makes him whine and jerk, which Dean takes as a sign for “more.” He's more than happy to give Castiel more. He slides his finger down until he comes across Castiel's tight little hole, and he can't help but groan at the feel of it. 

“Please,” Castiel begs, his voice wrecked. “Please, Dean.” 

“I've got you,” Dean murmurs. He pulls his hand out, sucks sloppily on his middle finger, and then slips his hand back down. He rubs against Castiel's hole, not pushing, just pressing, a firm, steady pressure that makes Castiel whine again and clench his eyes shut. 

“More,” he whimpers. “Please, Dean, close–” 

“Not so articulate now, huh?” Dean can't help but tease. Castiel just whimpers. 

_“Please,”_ he repeats desperately. 

Dean smirks. He lets Castiel have just the tip of his finger, but that's all he needs. With a soft cry, Castiel comes, painting Dean's abs with his spunk. 

Castiel sighs and relaxes against Dean's chest. He presses a few lazy kisses to Dean's neck as Dean withdraws his finger. 

“Hell of a lot hotter than I expected,” Dean remarks. 

“You've thought about this?” Castiel asks quietly. 

“Since I saw you all covered in dirt in your little garden,” Dean says with a chuckle. “Or maybe it was watching you do yoga.” 

Castiel flushes. “You were watching me?” he asks. 

“How could I not, with your cute little ass in the air like that? You were practically offering yourself up.” Castiel flushes even darker, and Dean chuckles. 

Castiel climbs from Dean's lap and stands awkwardly. Dean tips his head back and grins at him. 

“What, not the cuddlin' type?” he teases. Castiel smiles, not his little, not-really-a-smile smile, but a soft, honest, open smile, and it almost floors Dean. 

“I do enjoy that aspect of a sexual encounter,” he admits. “However, I think you should be cleaned up first.” 

It's then that Dean remembers he has a stomach covered in jizz. He looks down at himself and chuckles. 

“Guess you're right,” he says. He looks back up and grins sharply. “Well, that's your mess, Cas. I think it's your responsibility to clean it up.” 

Castiel's cheeks go red and he licks his lips. Dean groans. “Jesus fuck, Cas,” he says. “I didn't expect you to be such a little sex demon.” 

Castiel smirks. “I've known to be full of surprises.” 

Dean smirks back and stands up. He presses up against Castiel, ignoring the uncomfortable squish of the come between their bellies, and leans in so their lips are almost touching. 

“I love surprises,” he murmurs. 

Castiel says nothing. Instead, he takes Dean's hand and pulls him towards the stairs for what is sure to be a very unproductive shower.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a comment or kudos! I love feedback :)


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